Media Diet: Part 3

Yes, once again it is time for the blog equivalent of the dinner you make when you need to clear a bunch of stuff out of your refrigerator before it spoils. Some thoughts on things I’ve been consuming lately:

Sports, in a Weird Time of Year for Sports

My drugs of choice when it comes to the real opiate of the masses are the two most popular sports in America that feature round, spherical balls: Base and Basket. The MLB season has just started and its a weird time of year because this is a summer game and its still chilly in a lot of places, plus our boys are still kind of getting warmed up and I live in constant fear that some pitcher’s elbow is going to explode, thus necessitating Tommy John surgery. Statistically, we are in elbow explodin’ season. The NBA is in the dregs of the regular season, and everyone is nervy and itching for the playoffs. My beloved Cavs have given me much to delight in this season, what with their aesthetically pleasing style of play and penchant for double digit winning streaks. But the Sword of Damocles hanging over it all is whether or not they can make it out of the second round of the playoffs, so I need those to start so we can get this over with. “This” being the paradox, the grand mystery that is watching postseason basketball for me - simultaneously my favorite thing to do and also an utterly joyless, grim slog.

Moby-Dick (the opera, not the book, though I love the book)

Ah, an expansion of cultural horizons! I had never been to The Metropolitan Opera, and as an avowed Dick-Head my interest was piqued when I saw that they would be mounting a production of the 2010 opera based on Moby-Dick. I bought a ticket for a Tuesday night performance, primarily because it started at 7pm, had a martini with dinner at PJ Clarke’s beforehand (ok, 2 martinis), and plodded across the courtyard at Lincoln Center as dusk fell.

I really enjoyed the show! I haven’t seen opera of any stripe since I was in college and I forgot the scale that these things can have. There was like a hundred dudes running around with ropes and harpoons and stuff. Sitting in the nosebleeds gave me a real appreciation for the craft and technical skill of the vocalists - with minimal amplification (possibly none at all?) the way the singing carried up to my velvet perch was astounding. The set and stagecraft was simple and elegant. All that being said, I had a few grievances with the experience.

1. I was the only person with binoculars. They rent binoculars at Lincoln Center for gods sake, I am not the weirdo here. Jokes on everyone else, I was able to see plenty of cool details on stage. Also if you go to the opera and you don’t want to look through a set of small binoculars, you are a philistine who hates fun and can get out of my life.

2. Some dipshit in my row was guffawing with irony at a few, I don’t know, cringey moments in the opera? Can such a concept exist in such a sincere art form? Spoiler warning, they don’t depict an actual whale onstage during the show, and at the end Captain Art-Knower loudly scoffed and heckled “where’s the whale?” We were both in the restroom afterwards and he said “love that we didn’t see the whale in an opera about a whale” and I wanted to dunk his head in the toilet. Ever hear of “theater of the mind”, asshole?

3. I wish this was not an issue but in my heart of hearts I know it was for me. When Captain Ahab is introduced, he is wearing a hat and it was not the kind of hat that I wanted him to be wearing. Please appreciate how vulnerable I am being in bearing my stupidity in this matter. In my defense - think of Captain Ahab wearing a hat. I know you know exactly what kind of hat that is. HE WASN’T WEARING THAT KIND OF HAT. This was my only qualm with Ahab, the gentleman singing the role was absolutely cooking up there and I believe he was an understudy making his Metropolitan Opera debut, so my sartorial bugaboo is actually a credit to his performance.

Wolf Hall Trilogy by Hilary Mantel

I am just getting started on the third book in Mantel’s Wolf Hall trilogy, which is a fictionalized biography about Thomas Cromwell, who was chief minister, Lord of the Privy Seal, Master of the Rolls, and several other British sounding titles to Henry VIII. Mantel’s characterization of Cromwell is that of a highly functioning brick shithouse of a man who rose far above his birth as the son of a blacksmith to the right hand of the king. Nobody can really figure him out, but he seems smarter than everyone because he understands that Henry VIII is kind of crazy and can’t be treated like a reasonable person. Also this guy loves paperwork. The books are a lot of fun, even though its a lot of pale men sitting around by candlelight being all “Geez, I’m not sure this whole annulment with Katherine of Aragon thing is going to work out” and then another is like “Oooh it better not, but I shouldn’t say that too loudly” and then a lady says “Oi, this Anne Boleyn is a real piece of work, huh methinks” etc. etc.

Terrestrial Radio

I recently purchased a small transistor radio so that I could listen to Mets games without having to endure the repetitive commercials dictated by the MLB app listening experience and so that I could listen to WFUV without all that clarity of sound that comes from listening on my phone or computer. Gimme some of that FM texture, baby! Sometimes I’ll futz with the dial and see what I can find, occasionally stumbling upon some gems like a Sunday morning program that was all early reggae and audio of this guy recalling the names of people who came to his book signing, taking full 10 second dead air pauses while he searched his memory. There is something comforting to me about the radio - the knowledge that somewhere out there someone is pulling knobs and pushing buttons to broadcast music or a traffic report or the ramblings of an idiot. Honestly, content wise, it seems like the Wild West on some of these stations. Recently I tuned into WCBS as the end of “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany was playing, and then the DJ did that thing where they speak over the instrumental beginning part of the next song. The DJ intro-ed and then played the audio of Kieran Culkin’s Oscar speech in its entirety, all over the opening chords of “Hotel California”. I sat there on my couch, staring at the radio, wondering if perhaps I had suffered a head injury.

A New Pair of Boots

Ten years ago I bought myself a pair of Chippewa leather work boots. They were the most expensive individual article of clothing or footwear I had ever purchased for myself, and I did so with the idea that if I took care of them they would last me a long time. And indeed they did; these suckers were hands down my primary shoes for a decade. After I broke them in, they fit my feet like a glove (what many consider the shoes of the hands) and even fit the custom insoles I finally got after almost 2 years of foot pain when I was 27. I lovingly oiled them, got new laces, and had them resoled twice over that span, but recently the sole came loose once more, some of the scratches were not buffing out, and the lacing was starting to come apart. Fixable, but I considered whether I should invest in refurbishment or a new pair of day to day boots. I opted for the latter, and my sore feet are currently wrangling a dandy pair of Red Wing Iron Rangers into submission. This was an emotional purchase; I couldn’t help but feel I was betraying my Chippewas who served me so faithfully all these years. I’m not tossing them though, I fully intend to give them to my grandchildren and explain that I was wearing them when I saw Top Gun: Maverick in 4DX. I also felt it was a hopeful purchase. I’m making a commitment to another decade-plus of caring for a pair of boots, and wondering what films I will see in 4DX while wearing them.

Drumroll Donuts

I had a passive fascination with the protein-ification of snacks, which was made an active fascination by this excellent article by Chris Gayomali in New York Magazine. I’d noticed that protein foods (not counting, you know, stuff like meat, fish, tofu, dairy, etc), once relegated to granola-adjacent bars had started popping up in form factors that nobody seemed to ask for, like cinnamon rolls and pretzels. I find the trend somewhat perverse as another form of hyper-optimization encroaching on everyday life. Yet, I can see the the appeal, so I’ve been trying some of these bizarre creations with mixed results. Any protein chip can respectfully get the hell out of my face and lose my number. But I have to tip my cap to Drumroll Donuts, which I can’t say are an excellent and delicious snack, but they are just about as good as their “normal” snack analog, which would be a pack of Hostess cake donuts. I expect they will be beating down my door with free product after that ringing endorsement.